"The second-floor front have come in, Ben," said Mrs. Mogg, of 19A Poland-street, as she opened the door to her husband on a wet and windy autumnal evening; "she have come and brought her luggage--a green carpet-bag with a poll-parrot worked on it, and a foreign-looking bandbox tied up in a handkerchief. She's French, Ben, that's what she is."
"Is she?" said Mr. Mogg shortly. "Well, I'm hungry, that's what I am; so get me my tea."
He had had a long and dirty walk home from the West-India Docks, where he was employed as a warehouseman, and chattering in a windy passage about his wife's lodger scarcely seemed to him the most desirable way of employing his first moments at home.
But after dispatching two large breakfast-cups of tea, and several rounds Of hot salt-buttered toast, from which the crust had been carefully cut away, Mr. Mogg was somewhat mollified, and wiping his mouth and fingers on the dirty tablecloth, felt himself in cue to resume the conversation.
"O, the new second-floor has come, Martha, has she?" he commenced; "and she's French, you think. Well," continued Mr. Mogg, who was naturally rather slow in bringing his ideas into focus, "Dickson may or may not be a French name. That it's an English one, we all know; but that's no reason that it should not be a French one too, there being, as is well known, several words which are the same in both languages."
"She wrote down 'P. Dickson' when she came to take the rooms this morning, and I see P. D. worked on her purse when she took it out to pay the first week's rent in advance," said Mrs. Mogg.
"Then it's clear enough her name is Dickson," said Mr. Mogg, with a singular facility of reasoning. "What should you say she was, now, Martha--you're good at reckoning 'em up, you are--what is the second-floor front, should you say?"
"Either a gov'ness or a lady's-maid out of place," said Mrs. Mogg decisively. "I thought she was a gov'ness until I see the sovereigns in her purse, and then made up my mind she was a lady's-maid as had given up her place either through a death, or the family going abroad or giving up housekeeping; and these were the sovereigns which she had just got from the wardrobe-shop for the perquisites and etceteras which she had brought away with her."
"You're a clear-headed one, you are," said Mr. Mogg, looking at his wife with great delight. "Has she had anything to eat?"
"O yes," said Mrs. Mogg, giggling with some asperity; "she brought a lettice in with her, I suppose; for when I went up to ask her whether I should get-in any little trifle for breakfast, I found her eating of it, and dropping some lumps of sugar into a tumbler of water."
"Well, that's beastly," said Mr. Mogg. "These foreigners are disgusting in their ways, one always heard; but how did you make her understand you about breakfast?"
"Lor' bless yer, man, she speaks English first-rate--so well, that when I first see her, I thought she was a countrywoman of mine from Norfolk."
"Well, so long as she pays regularly, and don't stop out late at night, it don't matter to us where she comes from," said Mr. Mogg, stretching out his arms and indulging in a hearty yawn. "Now, Martha, get me my pipe; and when you have cleared these things away, come and sit down, and let's have a quiet talk about how we are to get rid of the German teacher in the back attic."
The newly-arrived tenant of the second floor, whom these worthies in the kitchen were thus discussing, was walking up and down her room in much the same manner as she had paced the platform at Lymington or the Prado at Marseilles. It was very lucky that the occupant of the drawing-room---a gentleman who taught noblemen and senators the art of declamation--had not on that evening one of his usual classes, in which budding orators were accustomed to deliver Mark Antony's speech over the sofa-pillow transformed for the nonce into the dead body of Caesar, and where, to encourage his pupils, the professor would set forth that his name was Norval, and proceed to bewail the bucolic disposition of his parent, or the grinding sound of the heels above would have sadly interfered with the lesson. It was well that Pauline was not interrupted; for the demon of rage and jealousy was at work within her. The burning shame consequent on the belief that she had been deceived and made a fool of nearly maddened her; and as every phase of the deceit to which she now imagined she had fallen so ready a victim rose before her mind, she clasped her arms above her head and groaned aloud.
"To think," she cried, "that I, who had known him so long and so intimately--I, who had been his companion in his plottings and intrigues, who had sat by, night after night and day after day, watching the patience and skill with which he prepared the pitfalls for others,--that I should be so blind, so weak, so besotted, as to fall into them myself! Lies from the first, and lie upon lie! A lie to the man Calverley, whose agent he pretended he would be; a lie to the old man Claxton, who obtained the place for him, and sent him the money by the pale-faced woman; then a lie to me,--a cleverer kind of lie, a lie involving some tracasserie, for I am not one to be deceived in the ordinary manner. To me he admitted he intended playing false with the others; and now I am reckoned among those whom he has hoodwinked and befooled!
"The notion that came across me at that place! It must be true! He never meant to come there; he sent me on a fool's errand, and he would never be within miles of the spot. The whole thing was a trick, a well-planned trick, from the first; well-planned, and so plausible too! The flight to Weymouth, then to Guernsey; hours of departure of trains and steamer all noted and arranged. What a cunning rogue! What a long-headed plausible rascal! And the money, the two thousand pounds --many would be deceived by that. He thought I would argue that if he had intended to leave me, he never would have handed over to me those bank-notes.
"But I know him better. He is a vaurien, swindler, liar; but though I suppose he never loved me in the way that other people understand love, I have been useful to him, and he has become used to me; so used, that he cannot bear to think of me in misery or want. So he gave me the money to set his mind at ease, that my reproachful figure should not rise between him and his new-found happiness. Does he think that money can compensate me for the mental agony that I shall suffer always, that I suffer now? Does he think that it will salve my wounded pride, that it will do away with the misery and degradation I feel? And having been cheated by a shallow artifice, will money deprive me of my memory, and stop the current of my thoughts? Because I shall not starve, can money bereave me of my fancies, or keep away mental pictures it will drive me mad to contemplate? I can see them all now; can see him with her; can hear the very phrases he will use, and can imagine his manner when he talks of love to her. How short a time it seems since I listened to those burning words from the same lips! How well I remember each incident in the happy journey from Marseilles, the pleasant days at Genoa, the long stay at Florence! Where has he gone now, I wonder? To what haunt of luxury and ease has he taken his new toy? Fool that I am to remain here dreaming and speculating, when I want to know, when I must know! I must and will find out where they are; and then quickness, energy, perseverance--he has praised them more than once when they served him--shall be brought into play to work his ruin."
At this point in her train of thought Pauline was interrupted by a knock at the door of her room. Starting at the sound, she raised her head and listened eagerly; but whatever fancy she may have indulged in as to the idea as to who might be her visitor, was speedily dispelled by hearing the short sniff and the apologetic cough with which Mrs. Mogg was wont to herald her arrival; and being bade to come in, that worthy woman made her appearance, smiling graciously. It was Mrs. Mogg's habit to fill up such leisure as her own normal labour and active superintendence of the one domestic slave of the household, known as "Melia," permitted her, in paying complimentary calls upon her various lodgers, apparently with the view of looking after their comforts and tendering her services, but really with the intention of what she called "taking stock" of their circumstances, and making herself acquainted with any peculiarities likely, in her idea, to affect the question of her rent. Having thoroughly discussed with her husband the possibility of getting rid of the German teacher, and it being pleasantly arranged between them that the unfortunate linguist was to be decoyed into the street at as early a period as possible on the ensuing morning, and then and there locked out, his one miserable little portmanteau being detained as a hostage, Mrs. Mogg was in excellent spirits, and determined to make herself agreeable to her new lodger.
"Good evening, ma'am," she commenced; "time being getting late, and this being your first night under our humble roof, I took the liberty of looking in to see if things was comfortable, or there was anything in the way of a Child's night-light or that, you might require."
Almost wearied out with the weight of the wretched thoughts over which, for the last forty-eight hours, she had been brooding, Pauline felt the relief even of this interruption, and answered graciously and with as much cheerfulness as she could assume. "The room was comfortable," she said, "and there was nothing she required; but would not madame sit down? She seemed to be always hard at work, and must be tired after climbing those steep stairs. Perhaps she would not object to a little refreshment?"
Mrs. Mogg's eyes gleamed as from her neat hand-bag Pauline produced a small silver flask, and pouring some of its contents into a tumbler, handed the water-bottle to her landlady, to mix for herself.
"Thank you, ma'am," said Mrs. Mogg, seating herself on one of the two rush-bottomed chairs, and smoothing her apron over her lap with both her hands. "It is a pull up the stairs after one's been hard at it all day, and a little drop of comfort like this does one no harm, whatever they may say against it, more especially when it's like this, and not the vitriol and mahogany-shavings which they sell by the quartern at the Goldsmith's Arms. You didn't bring this from France with you, did you, ma'm?"
"O no," said Pauline, with a half smile. "It is a long time since I left France."
"Ah, so I should think," said Mrs. Mogg, "by your civilised ways of going on, let alone your speaking our language so capital. Mogg, meaning my husband, was in France once, at Boolong, with the Foresters' excursion, and thought very high of the living he got during the two hours he was there."
"Ah, you have a husband," said Pauline, beginning to lapse into dreariness.
"O yes, ma'am, and as good a husband as woman could wish, a hard-working man, and taking no holidays save with the Foresters to the Crystal Palace, Easter Mondays, and suchlike. He's in the docks is Mogg."
"In the docks," said Pauline; "he would know, then, all about ships?"
"O no, ma'am," said Mrs. Mogg, with a slight toss of the head; "that's the Katherine's Docks you are thinking of where the General Steam goes from. Hogg is in the West-Injia Docks: he's in the sale-room--horns and hides, and other foreign produce."
"Then he has nothing to do with ships?"
"Nothing at all, ma'am. It would be easier work for him if he had, though more outdoor work; but his is terrible hard work, more especially on sale days. He's regular tired out to-night, poor man; for to-day has been a sale day, and Mogg was at it from morning till night, attending to Mr. Calverley's consignments."
"Mr. Calverley!" cried Pauline, roused at last; "do you know him?"
"O no, not I, ma'am," said the landlady, "only through hearing of him from Mogg. He's one of the largest merchants in horns and hides is Mr. Calverley, and there is never a shipload comes in but he takes most of it. Mogg has done business for him--leastways for the house, for when Mogg knew it first Mr. Calverley was only a clerk there--for the last thirty years."
"Is Mr. Calverley married?"
"O yes, ma'am. He married Mrs. Gurwood, which was Miss Lorraine before she married Mr. Gurwood, who killed himself with drink and carryings-on. A pious lady, Mrs. Calverley, though haughty and stand-offish, and, they do say, keeping Mr. C.'s nose to the grindstone close."
"And Mr. Calverley, what is he like?"
"Not much to look at, ma'am, but the kindest and the best of men. My nephew Joe is light-porter in their house; and the way in which Mr. Calverley behaves to him--half-holiday here, half-a-crown there, Christmas-boxes regular, and cold meat and beer whenever he goes up to the house--no tongue can tell. Likewise most bountiful to Injuns and foreigners of all kinds, Spaniards and that like, providing for children and orphans, and getting them into hospitals, or giving them money to go back to their own country."
"Where is Mr. Calverley's address--his business address; his office I mean?"
"In Mincing-lane, in the City, ma'am. It's as well known as the Bank of England, or the West-Injia Docks themselves. May I make so bold as to inquire what you want with Mr. Calverley, ma'am?" said Mrs. Mogg, whose curiosity, stimulated by the brandy-and-water, was fast getting the better of her discretion; "if it's anything in the horn and hide way," she added, as the notion of something to be made on commission crossed her mind, "I am sure anything that Mogg could do he would be most happy."
"No, thank you," said Pauline coldly; "my inquiry had nothing to do with business."
And shortly after, Mrs. Mogg, seeing that her lodger had relapsed into thought, and had replaced the silver flask in her hand-bag, took her departure.
"What that Frenchwoman can want with Mr. Calverley," said she to her husband, after she had narrated to him the above conversation, "is more than I can think; his name came up quite promiscuous, and she never stopped talking about him while I was there. She'd have gone on gossiping till now, but I had my work to do, and told her so, and came away."
Mrs. Mogg's curiosity was not responded to by her husband; a man naturally reticent, and given in the interval between his supper and his bed to silent pipe-smoking. "They're a rum lot, foreigners," he said; and after that he spoke no more.
Meanwhile Pauline, left to herself, at once resumed the tiger-like pacing of her room. "I must not lose sight," she said, "of any clue which is likely to serve me. Where he is, she will be; and until I have found them both, and made them feel what it is to attempt to play the fool with me, I shall not rest satisfied. I must find means to become acquainted with this Calverley; for sooner or later he must hear something of Tom Durham, whom he believes to have gone to Ceylon as his agent, and whose non-arrival there will of course be reported to him. So long as my husband and the poor puny thing for whom he has deserted me, can force money from the old man Claxton, they will do so. But in whatever relations she may stand to him, when he discovers her flight he will stop the supplies, and I should think Monsieur Durham will probably turn up with some cleverly-concocted story to account for his quitting the ship. They will learn that by telegraph from Gibraltar, I suppose; and he will again seek for legitimate employment. Meanwhile I have the satisfaction of striking him with his own whip and stabbing him with his own dagger, by using the money which he gave me to help me in my endeavours to hunt him down. The money! It is there safe enough!"
As she placed her hand within the bosom of her dress, a curious expression, first of surprise, then of triumph, swept across her face. "The letter!" she said, as she pulled it forth,--"the letter, almost as important as the banknotes themselves, Tom Durham called it. It is sealed! Shall I open it; but for what good? To find, perhaps, a confession that he loves me no more, that he has taken this means to end our connection, and that he has given me the money to make amends for his betrayal of me--shall I-- Bah! doubtless it is another part of the fraud, and contains nothing of any value."
She broke the seal as she spoke, opened the envelope, and took out its contents, a single sheet of paper, on which was written:
"I have duly received the paper you sent me, and have placed it intact in another envelope, marked 'Akhbar K,' which I have deposited in the second drawer of my iron safe. Besides myself no one but my confidential head-clerk knows even as much as this, and I am glad that I declined to receive your confidence in the matter, as my very ignorance may at some future time be of service to you, or--don't think me harsh, but I have known you long enough to speak plainly to you--may prevent my being compromised. The packet will be given up to no one but yourself in person, or to some one who can describe the indorsement, as proof that they are accredited by you. H.S."
This letter Pauline read and re-read over carefully; then with a shoulder-shrug returned it to its envelope, and replaced it in her bosom.
"Mysterious," she said, "and unsatisfactory, as is everything connected with Monsieur Durham! The paper to which this letter refers is of importance doubtless, but what it may contain, and who 'H. S.' may be, are equally unknown to me; and without that information I am helpless to make use of it. Let it remain there! A time may come when t will be of service. Meanwhile I have the two thousand pounds to work with, and Monsieur Calverley to work upon; he is the only link which I can see at present to connect me with my fugitive husband. Through him is the only means I have of obtaining any information as to the whereabouts of this traitorous pair. The clue is slight enough, but it may serve in default of a better, and I must set my wits to work to make it useful."
So the night went on; and the Mogg household, the proprietors themselves in the back-kitchen; the circulating librarian in the parlours; the Italian nobleman, who dealt in cameos an coral and bric-a-brac jewelry, in the drawing-room; the Belgian basso, who smoked such strong tobacco, and cleared his throat with such alarming vehemence, in the second floor back; and the German teacher, in ignorance of his intended forcible change of domicile, in the attic; all these slept the sleep of the just, and snored the snores c the weary; while Pauline, half undressed, lay on her bed, with eyes indeed half closed, but with her brain active and at work. In the middle of the night, warned by the rapid decrease of her candle that in a few minutes she would be in darkness, she rose from the bed, and taking from her carpet-bag a small neat blotting-book, she sat dowat the table, and in a thin, clear, legible hand, to the practised eye eminently suggestive of hotel bills, wrote the following letter:
"19APoland-street, Soho.
"Monsieur,--As a Frenchwoman domiciled in England, the name of Monsieur Calverley has become familiar to me as that of a gentleman--ah, the true English word!--who is renowned as one of the most constant and liberal benefactors to all kinds of charities for distressed foreigners. Do not start, monsieur; do not turn aside or put away this letter in the idea that you have already arrived exactly at its meaning and intention. Naturally enough you think that the writer is about to throw herself on your mercy, and to implore you for money, or for admission into one of those asylums towards the support of which you do so much. It is not so, monsieur; though, were my circumstances different, it is to you I should apply, knowing that your ear is never deaf to such complaint. I have no want of money, though my soul is crushed; and I am well and strong in body, though my heart is wounded and bleeding, calamities for which, even in England, there are no hospitals nor doctors. Yet, monsieur, am I one of that clientèle which you have so nobly made your own--the foreigners in distress. Do you think that the only distressed foreigners are the people who want to give lessons, or get orders for wine and cigars, the poor governesses, the demoiselles de magasin, the émigrés of the Republic and the Empire? No, there is another kind of distressed foreigner,--the woman with a small sum, on which she must live for the rest of her days, in penury if she manages ill, in decent thrift if she manages well. Who will guide her? I am such a woman, monsieur. To my own country, where I have lost all ties, and where remain to me but sad memories, I will not return. In this land, where, if I have no ties, yet have I no sad memories, I will remain. I have a small sum of money, on the interest of which I must exist; and to you I apply, monsieur; you, the merchant prince, the patron and benefactor of my countrymen, to advise in the investment of this poor sum, and keep me from the hands of charlatans and swindlers, who otherwise would rob me of it. I await your gracious answer,
"Monsieur; and am
"Your servant,
"PALMYRE DU TERTRE."
The next morning Pauline conveyed this letter to the office in Mincing-lane, and asked to see Mr. Calverley; but on being told by a smart clerk that Mr. Calverley was out of town, visiting the iron works in the North, and would not be back for some days, she left the letter in the clerk's hands, and begged for an answer at his chief's convenience.
The descriptions of the great house of Calverley and Company given respectively by Mr. and Mrs. Calverley, though differing essentially in many particulars, had each a substratum of truth. The house had been founded half a century before by John Lorraine, the eldest son of a broken-down but ancient family in the north of England, who in very early years had been sent up to London to shift for himself, and arriving there with the conventional half-crown in his pocket, was, of course, destined to fame and fortune. Needless to say that, like so many other merchant princes, heroes of history far more veracious than this, his first experiences were those of struggling adversity. He kept the books, he ran the errands, he fetched and carried for his master--the old East-India agent in Great St. Helen's--and by his intelligence and industry he commended himself to the good graces of his superiors; and was not only able to maintain himself in a respectable position, but to provide for his two younger brothers, who were sipping from the fount of learning at the grammar-school of Penrith. These junior scions being brought to town, and applying themselves, not, indeed, with the same energy as their elder brother, but with a passable amount of interest and care to the duties set before them, were taken into partnership by John Lorraine when he went into business for himself, and helped, in a certain degree, to establish the fortunes of the house. Of these fortunes John Lorraine was the mainspring and the principal producer. He had wonderful powers of foresight; and uncommon shrewdness in estimating the chances of any venture proposed to him; and with all these he was bold and lucky; 'far too bold,' his old employers said, with shaking heads, as they saw him gradually but surely outstripping them in the race; 'far too lucky,' his detractors growled, when they saw speculations, which had been offered to them and promptly declined, prosper auriferously in John Lorraine's hands.
As soon as John Lorraine saw the tide of fortune strongly setting in, he took to himself a wife, the daughter of one of his City friends, a man of tolerable wealth and great experience, who in his early days had befriended the struggling boy, and who thought his daughter could not have achieved higher honour or greater happiness. Whatever honour or happiness may have accrued to the young lady on her marriage did not last long, for, shortly after giving birth to her first child, a daughter, she died; and thenceforward John Lorraine devoted his life to the little girl, and to the increased fortune which she was to inherit. When little Jane had arrived at a more than marriageable age, and from a pretty fubsy baby had grown into a thin, acidulated, opiniated woman (a result attributable to the manner in which she had been spoiled by her indulgent father), John Lorraine's mind was mainly exercised as to what manner of man would propose for her with a likelihood of success. Hitherto, love-affairs had been things almost unknown to his Jane, not from any unwillingness on her part to make their acquaintance, but principally because, notwithstanding the fortune which it was known she would bring to her husband, none of the few young men who from time to time dined solemnly in the old-fashioned house in Brunswick-square, or acted as cavalier to its mistress to the Antient Concerts, or the King's Theatre, could make up their minds to address her in anything but the most common phrases. That Miss Jane had a will of her own, and a tart manner of expressing her intention of having that will fulfilled, was also matter of common gossip. Stories were current among the clerks at Mincing-lane of the "wigging" which they had heard her administering to her father, when she drove down to fetch him away in her chariot, and when he kept her unduly waiting; the household servants in Brunswick-square had their opinion of Miss Jane's temper; and the tradesmen in the neighbourhood looked forward to the entrance of her thin, dark figure into their shops every Tuesday morning, for the performance of settling the books, with fear and trembling.
Old John Lorraine, fully appreciating his daughter's infirmities, though, partly from affection, partly from fear, he never took upon himself to rebuke them, began to think that the fairy prince who was to wake this morally slumbering virgin to a sense of something better, to larger views and higher aims, to domestic happiness and married bliss, would never arrive. He came at last, however, in the person of George Gurwood; a big, broad-shouldered, jovial fellow, who, as a son of another of Lorraine's early friends, had some time previously been admitted as a partner into the house. Everybody liked good-looking, jolly George Gurwood. Lambton Lorraine and Lowther Lorraine, who, though now growing elderly men, had retained their bachelor tastes and habits, and managed to get through a great portion of the income accruing to them from the business, were delighted with his jovial manners, his sporting tendencies, his convivial predilections. When the fact of George's paying his addresses to their niece was first promulgated, Lambton had a serious talk with his genial partner, warning him against tying himself for life to a woman with whom he had no single feeling in common. But George laughed at the caution, and declined to be guided by it. "Miss Lorraine was not much in his line," he said; "perhaps a little given to tea and psalm-smiting; but it would come all right: he should get her into a different way; and as the dear old guv'nor" (by which title George always affectionately spoke of his senior partner) "seemed to wish it he was not going to stand in the way. He wanted a home, and Jane should make him a jolly one, he'd take care of that."
Jane Lorraine married George Gurwood, but she did not make him a home. Her rigid bearing and unyielding temper were too strong for his plastic, pliable nature; for many months the struggle for mastery was carried on between them, but in the end George--jolly George no longer--gave way. He had made a tolerably good fight of it, and had used every means in his power to induce her to be less bitter, less furtive, less inexorable in the matter of his dinings-out, his sporting transactions, his constant desire to see his table surrounded by congenial company. "I have tried to gentle her," he said to Lowther Lorraine one day, "as I would a horse, and there has never been one of them yet that I could not coax and pet into good temper; I'd spend any amount of money on her, and let her have her own way in most things if she would only just let me have mine in a few. I have tried her with a sharp bit and a pair of 'persuaders,' but that was no more use than the gentling. She's as hard as nails, Lowther, my boy, and I don't see my way out of it, that's the truth. So come along and have a B and S."
If having a B and S--George's abbreviation for soda-water and brandy--would have helped him to see his way out of his difficulties, he would speedily have been able to perceive it, for thenceforward his consumption of that and many other kinds of liquids was enormous. Wretched in his home, George Gurwood took to drinking to drown care, but, as in most similar cases, the demon proved himself far too buoyant to be overwhelmed even by the amount which George poured upon him. He was drinking morning, noon, and night, and was generally in a more or less muddled state. When he went to business, which was now very seldom, some of the clerks in the office laughed at him, which was bad enough, while others pitied him, which was worse. The story of George's dissipation was carefully kept from John Lorraine, who had virtually retired from the business, and devoted himself to nursing his rheumatism, and to superintending the education of his grandson, a fine boy of five or six years of age; but Lambton and Lowther held many colloquies together, the end of them all being that they agreed they could not tell what was to be done with George Gurwood. What was to be done with him was soon settled by George Gurwood himself. Even his powerful constitution had been unable to withstand the ravages which constant drinking had inflicted upon it. He was seized with an attack of delirium tremens while attending a race-meeting at Warwick, and during the temporary absence of the night-nurse jolly George Gurwood terminated his earthly career by jumping from the bedroom window of the hotel into the yard below.
Then it was that the investigation of the affairs of the firm, consequent upon the death of one of the partners, revealed the serious state in which matters stood. All the name and fame, the large fortune, the enormous colonial business, the commercial credit which John Lorraine had spent his life in building up, had been gradually crumbling away. Two years more of this decadence, such as the perusal of the firm's books exhibited had taken place during the last ten years, and the great house of Lorraine Brothers would be in the Bankruptcy Court. Then it was that Mr. Calverley, hitherto known only as a plodding reliable head-clerk, thoroughly conversant with all details of business, but never having shown any peculiar capabilities, came forward and made his mark. At the meeting of the creditors he expounded his views so lucidly, and showed so plainly how, by reorganising the business in every department, it could once more be put on a safe and proper footing, and reinstated in its old position as one of the leading houses in the City, that the helm was at once put into his hands. So safely and so prosperously did he steer the ship, that, before old John Lorraine died, he saw the business in Mincing-lane, though no longer conducted under its old name (Mr. Calverley had made a point of that, and had insisted on claiming whatever was due to his ability and exertions), more flourishing than in its best days; while Lambton and Lowther, who had been paid out at the reorganisation of affairs, and had thought themselves very lucky at escaping being sucked-in by the expected whirlpool, were disgusted at the triumphant results of the operations of a man by whom they had set so little store, and complained indignantly of their ill-treatment.
And then John Calverley, who, as one of the necessities involved in carrying out his business transactions, had been frequently brought into communication with the widowed Mrs. Gurwood, first conceived the idea of making her an offer of marriage. Nearly forty years of his life had been spent in a state of bachelorhood, though he had not been without the comforts of a home. He was thoroughly domesticated by nature, simple in his tastes, shy and shrinking from society, and so engrossed by his unceasing labour during the day, that it was his happiness at night to put aside from his mind everything relating, however remotely, to his City toil, and to sit drinking his tea, and placidly chatting, reading, or listening to his old mother, from whom since his childhood he had never been separated. The first great grief of John Calverley's life, the death of this old lady, took place very shortly after he had assumed the reins of government in Mincing-lane and since then his home had been dull and cheerless. He sorely felt the want of a companion, but he knew nobody whom he could ask to share his lot. He had but rare opportunities of making the acquaintance of any ladies, but Mrs. Gurwood had been thrown in his way by chance, and, after some little hesitation, he ventured to propose to her. The proposition was not disagreeable to Jane Gurwood. For some time past she had felt the loss of some constantly present object on which to vent her bile; her tongue and her temper were both becoming rusty by disuse; and in the meek, pleasant little man, now rich and well-to-do, she thought she saw a very fitting recipient for both. So John Calverley and Jane Gurwood were married, with what result we have already seen.
The offices in Mincing-lane remained pretty much in the same state as they had been in old John Lorraine's day. They had been painted, of course, many times since he first entered upon their occupation, but in the heart of the City the brilliancy of paint does not last very long, and in a very few months after the ladders and the scaffoldings had been removed, the outside woodwork relapsed into its state of grubbiness. There was a talk at one time of making some additions to the building, to provide accommodation for the increased staff of clerks which it had been found necessary to engage; but Mr. Calverley thought that the rooms originally occupied by Lambton and Lowther Lorraine would do very well for the newly-appointed young gentlemen, and there accordingly they set up their high desks and stools, their enormous ledgers and day-books. The elderly men, who had been John Lorraine's colleagues and subordinates in bygone days, still remained attached to the business; but their employer, not unmindful of the good services they had rendered, and conscious, perhaps, that without their aid he might have had some difficulty in carrying out his reorganisation so successfully, took means to lighten their duties and to place them rather in the position of overseers and superintendents, leaving the grinding desk-work to be performed by their juniors. Of these young gentlemen there were several. They inhabited the lower floor of the warehouse, and the most presentable of them were told-off to see any stray customers that might enter. The ships' captains, the brokers, and the consignees, knew their way about the premises, and passed in and out unheeded; but occasionally strangers arrived with letters of introduction, or foreign merchants put in a fantastic appearance, and for the benefit of these there was a small glazed waiting-room set apart, with one or other of the presentable clerks to attend to them.
About a fortnight after Pauline's first visit, about the middle of the day, Mr. Walker, one of the clerks, entered the large office and proceeded to hang up his hat and to doff his coat, preparatory to putting on a sporting-looking garment made of shepherd's-plaid, with extremely short tails, and liberally garnished with ink-spots. Judging from his placid, satisfied appearance, and from the fact that he carried a toothpick between his lips, which he was elegantly chewing, one might have guessed without fear of contradiction, that Mr. Walker had just returned from dinner.
"You shouldn't hurry yourself in this way, Postman, you really shouldn't," said Mr. Briscoe, one of the presentable clerks aforenamed. "You will spoil your digestion if you do; and fancy what a calamity that would be to a man of your figure. You have only been out an hour and a quarter, and I understand they have sent round from Lake's to Newgate Market for some more joints."
"Don't you be funny, William," said Mr. Walker, wiping his lips, and slowly climbing on to his stool; "it isn't in your line, and you might hurt yourself."
"Hurt myself!" echoed Mr. Briscoe. "I will hurt you, and spoil your appetite too, when I get the chance, keeping a fellow hanging on here, waiting for his luncheon, while you are gorging yourself to repletion for one and ninepence. Only you wait till next week, when it's my turn to go out at one, and you will see what a twist I'll give you. However, one comfort is, I'm off at last." And Mr. Briscoe jumped from his seat, and proceeded towards the hat-pegs.
"No, you're not," said Mr. Walker, who had commenced a light dessert on a half-hundred of walnuts, which he had purchased at a stall on his way; "there's a party just come into the private office, William, and as you're picked out for that berth on account of your beauty and superior manners, you will have to attend to her. A female party, do you hear, William; so, brush your hair, and pull down your wristbands, and make a swell of yourself."
Mr. Briscoe looked with great disgust towards the partition through the dulled glass, on which he saw the outline of a female figure; then, stepping across, he opened a pane in the glass, and inquired what was wanted.
"I called here some time ago," said Pauline, for it was she, "and left a letter for Mr. Calverley. I was told he was out of town, but would return in a few days. Perhaps he is now here?"
"Mr. Calverley has returned," said Mr. Briscoe, in his most fascinating manner, a compound of the familiarity with which he addressed the waitresses in the eating-houses and the nonchalance with which he regarded the duchesses in the Park. "I believe he is engaged just now, but I will let him know you are here. What name shall I say?"
"Say Madame Du Tertre, if you please," said Pauline; "and mention that he has already had a letter from me."
Mr. Briscoe bowed, and delivered his message through a speaking-tube which communicated with Mr. Calverley's room. In reply he was instructed to bring the lady upstairs; and bidding Pauline follow him, he at once introduced her into the presence of his chief.
As his visitor entered, Mr. Calverley rose from the desk at which he was seated, and graciously motioned her to a chair, looking hard at her from under his light eyebrows meanwhile.
Pauline was the first to speak. After she had seated herself, and Mr. Calverley had resumed his place at his desk, she leaned forward and said, "I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Calverley?"
"That is my name," said John, with a bow and a pleasant smile. "In what way can I have the pleasure of being of service to you?"
"You speak kindly, Mr. Calverley, and your appearance is just what I had expected. You received a letter from me--a strange letter you thought it; is it not so?"
"Well," said John, "it was not the sort of letter I have been in the habit of receiving; it was not strictly a business kind of letter, you know."
"It was not addressed to you in your strictly business capacity, Mr. Calverley; it was written from the heart, a thing which does not often enter into business matters, I believe. It was written because I have heard of you as a man of benevolence and charity, interested in the fate of foreigners and exiles, able, if willing, to do what I wish."
"My dear madam," said John Calverley, "I fear you much exaggerate any good qualities I may possess. The very nature of my business throws me into constant communication with people from other countries, and if they are unfortunate I endeavour to help them to the best of my power. Such power is limited to the giving away of small sums of money, and helping them to return to their native country, to getting them employment if they desire to remain here, or recommending them to hospitals if they are ill; but yours is a peculiar case, if I recollect your letter rightly. I have it here, and can refer to it--"
"There is no occasion to do that. I can explain more fully and more promptly by word of mouth. Mine is, as you say, a peculiar case. I am the daughter of a retired officer of artillery, who lived at Lyons. At his death I married Monsieur Du Tertre, who was engaged as a traveller for one of the large silk factories there. He was frequently coming to England, and spoke the language well. He taught it to me, and I, to aid an income which was but small, taught it again to several pupils in my native city. My husband, like most Frenchmen of his class, took a vivid interest in politics, and was mixed up in several of the more prominent Republican societies. One day, immediately after his return from a foreign journey, he was arrested, and since then, save on the day of his trial. I have not set eyes upon him. I know not where he is; he may be in the cachots of Mont Saint Michele; he may be kept au secret in the Conciergerie; he may be exiled to Cayenne--I know not. All I know is, I shall never see him again. 'Avec ces gens-là il faut en finir,' was all the reply I could get to my inquiries--they must be finished, done with, stamped out, what you will. There," continued Pauline, brushing her eyes with her handkerchief, "it is not often that I give way, monsieur; my life is too stern and too hard for that. After he was taken from me I could remain in Lyons no longer. It is not alone upon the heads of families that the Imperial Government revenges itself; so I came away to England, bringing with me all that I had saved, all that I could scrape together, after selling everything we possessed, and the result is that I have, monsieur, a sum of two thousand pounds, which I wish to place in your hands, begging you to invest it in such a manner as will enable me to live honestly, and with something like decency, for the remainder of my days."
John Calverley had listened to this recital with great attention, and when Pauline ceased speaking, he said to her with a half-grave smile:
"The remainder of your days, madam, is likely, I hope, to be a tolerably long period; for you are evidently quite a young woman. Now, with regard to your proposition, you yourself say it is unbusiness-like, and I must confess it strikes me as being so in the highest degree. You know nothing of me, beyond seeing my name as a subscriber to certain charities, or having heard it mentioned as that of a man who takes some interest in assisting foreigners in distress; and yet you offer to place in my hands what constitutes your entire fortune, and intrust me with the disposal of it. I really do not think," said John Calverley, hesitating, "I can possibly undertake--"
"One moment, Mr. Calverley," said Pauline. "The responsibility of declining to take this money will be far greater than of accepting it; for if you decline to act for me, I will consult no one else; I will act on my own impulse, and shall probably either invest the sum in some swindling company, or squander and spend it."
"You must not do that," said John promptly; "you must not think of doing that. Two thousand pounds is not a very large sum of money; but properly invested, a lady without encumbrance," said John, with a dim recollection of the formula of servants' advertisements, "might live very comfortably on the interest, more especially if she had no home to keep up."
"But, monsieur, I must always have a home, a lodging, a something to live in," said Pauline with a shrug.
"Yes, of course," said John Calverley, rather absently; for at that moment a notable plan had suggested itself to him, and he was revolving it in his mind. "Where are you living now, Madame Du Tertre?"
"I have a lodging--a bed-room--in Poland-street," she replied.
"Dear me," said John Calverley, in horrified amazement. "Poland-street? I know, of course; back of the Pantheon--very stuffy and grimy, children playing battledore and shuttlecock in the street, organ-men and fish-barrows, and all that kind of thing; not at all pleasant."
"No," said Pauline, with a repetition of her shrug; "but beggars have no choice, as the proverb says."
"Did it ever occur to you," said John nervously, "that you might become a companion to a lady--quite comfortable, you know, and well treated, made one of the family, in point of fact?" he added, again recurring to the advertisement formula.
Pauline's eyes glistened at once, but her voice was quite calm as she said: "I have never thought of such a thing. I don't know whether I should like it. It would, of course, depend upon the family."
"Of course," assented John. "I was thinking of-- Do you play the piano, Madame Du Tertre?"
"O yes, sufficiently well."
"Ah," said John unconsciously, "some of it does go a long way. Well, I was thinking that perhaps--"
"Mrs. Calverley, sir," said Mr. Briscoe, throwing open the door.
Mrs. Calverley walked into the room, looking so stern and defiant that her husband saw he must take immediate action to prevent the outbreak of a storm. Since that evening in Great Walpole-street, when John Calverley had plucked up his spirit, and ventured to assert himself, his wife, though cold and grim as ever, had kept more outward control over her temper, and had almost ceased to give vent to the virulent raillery in which she formerly indulged. Like most despots she had been paralysed when her meek slave rebelled against her tyranny, and had stood in perpetual fear of him ever since.
"You come at a very opportune moment, Jane," said John Calverley.
"It scarcely seems so," said his wife, from between her closed lips. "I was afraid I might be regarded as an unpleasant interruption to a private interview."
"It is I, madam," said Pauline, rising, "who am the interrupter here. My business with Mr. Calverley is ended, and I will now retire."
"Pray stay, Madame Du Tertre," said John, motioning her again to her chair.--"This lady, Jane, is Madame Du Tertre, a foreigner and a stranger in England."
"But not a stranger to the history of Madame Calverley," said Pauline, rising gracefully; "not a stranger to the beneficence, the charities, the piety of Mademoiselle Lorraine; not a stranger," she added, in a lower tone, "to the sainted sufferings of Madame Gurwood. Ah, madame, though I have been but a very short time in this great city of London, I have heard of you, of your religion, and your goodness, and I am honoured in the opportunity of being able to kiss your hand." And suiting the action to the word, Pauline took Jane Calverley's plum-coloured gauntlet into her own neatly-gloved palm and pressed it to her lips.
Mrs. Calverley was so taken aback at this performance, that, beyond muttering "not worthy" and "too generous," she said nothing. But her husband marked the faint blush of satisfaction which spread over her clay-coloured complexion, and took advantage of the impression made to say:
"Madame Du Tertre, my dear Jane, is a French lady, a widow with a small fortune, which she wishes me to invest for her in the best way possible. In the mean time she is a stranger here in London, as I said before, and she has no comfortable lodging and no friends. I thought perhaps that, as I am compelled by business to be frequently absent from home, and am likely to continue to be so, it might break the loneliness of your life if Madame Du Tertre, who speaks our language well, and plays the piano, and is no doubt generally accomplished, might come as your visitor for a short time, and then if you found you suited each other, one might make some more permanent arrangement."
When Jane Calverley first entered the room and saw a lady gossipping with her husband, she thought she had discovered the means of bringing him to shame, and making his life a burden to him. Now in his visitor she saw, as she thought, a woman possessing qualities such as she admired, but for which she never gave her husband credit, and one who might render her efficient aid in her life's campaign against him. Even if what had been told her were false, and that this woman were an old friend of his, as a visitor in Great Walpole-street Mrs. Calverley would have her under her own eye, and she believed sufficiently in her own powers of penetration to enable her to judge of the relations between them. So that, after a little more talk, the visit was determined on, and it was arranged that the next day Madame Du Tertre should remove to her new quarters.
"And now," said Pauline, as she knocked at Mr. Mogg's door, whither the Calverley's carriage had brought her, "and now, Monsieur Tom Durham,gare à vous!for this day I have laid the beginning of the train which, sooner or later, shall blow your newly-built castle of happiness into the air!"